


Force of Nature

by izoverthemoon



Series: Malec One Shots [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: ALL THE FLUFF, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Blue-Eyed Alec Lightwood, Falling In Love, Fluff, Happy Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Idiots in Love, Inspired by..., M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Fluff, One Shot, POV Magnus Bane, Short & Sweet, an r.m.drake quote, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izoverthemoon/pseuds/izoverthemoon
Summary: Magnus had thought that little word would come as a tremendous revelation, followed by sparks and fireworks.But it hadn’t.It came in the dead of night, when he was alone with his thoughts. There were no eureka, no sparks nor fireworks, just a simple eight-lettered line forming in his mind.





	Force of Nature

**Author's Note:**

> I was scrolling through Instagram when I came across this one quote that hit me  
> And it developed into this  
> Took elements from both the series and the tv show just because  
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title from Force of Nature by Bea Miller

_I have learned that people do not fall in love in coffee shops, they fall in love in the middle of the night while no one else is around._

_r. m. drake_

 

* * *

 

He first saw him in Java Jones.

 

The café was buzzing with people grabbing their first cup of coffee of the day, who were all either cranky and defensive or loud and irritating. And when Magnus walked in, he was sure he was about to witness yet another yelling match about whose fault it was when a cup of freshly brewed Americano got spilled all over the cement floor.

 

But his eyes wandered to the far end of the café instead.

 

It was a semi secluded corner, with two round coffee tables lined next to the tinted floor-to-ceiling window. The early morning sun shining through lazily, casting light shadows onto the floor. A large replica of Monet’s Argenteuil Late Afternoon took up most of the space on the adjacent wall, perfectly contrasting the pale beige colour theme.

 

Magnus’ eyes, however, found the young man sitting in the round taupe armchair at the very back of the corner, next to one of the large windows.

 

His hair was a mess of tangled black, and it looked like he hadn’t bother combing them. His cheekbones were prominent but they, somehow, complimented his whole feature. A tattoo donned his long neck, from the underside of his jaw to his collarbone. His brows were slightly furrowed, lips pressed together as he immersed himself in whatever story he was reading. The sun warmed his pale skin, rays of golden hues twirling around him, embracing his muscular albeit slim form. It was a perfect picture of peacefulness, serenity radiating from him.

 

What struck Magnus the most, however, was the man’s eyes.

 

They were of the clearest, purest blue. And even at a distance Magnus could tell it was blue like the water where ocean meets land, the kind of blue which, if looked closely, contained shades of emerald in it.

 

“One caramel macchiato for Magnus!”

 

The barista Maia’s voice pulled him back from his thoughts. Magnus had almost forgot about his order. Out of the corner of his eye, when he was thanking Maia for his coffee, Magnus saw the young man perked up from his book, his vibrant blue eyes directed towards them.

 

Magnus turned around with his coffee in hand at that, and their eyes met, brown to blue.

 

He couldn’t fathom how someone could have eyes as bright and as unblemished as those blue ones.

 

Magnus flashed a smile at the young man on his way out. And he was just out the door when he caught a glimpse of soft red tinging his cheeks, emblazoned by the golden tint of sunlight.

 

* * *

 

It turned into an unspoken agreement.

 

Every day after that first day, Magnus would step into the café to find the man already there, sitting in his usual spot, with a book in hand, reading intently, but glancing up every time the little doorbell announced someone’s arrival with a delightful and crispy “ding”.

 

He would offer Magnus a small smile every time he saw him walking in, and Magnus would feel eyes following him as he placed his usual order.

 

It was a peculiar feeling for Magnus. He was usually very straightforward (to the point of embarrassing, according to his friends). But this wordless bond between them intrigued him as much as the young man did.

 

Everyday he would tell himself he’d walk up to him and ask for a name; but everyday he was too entranced to break the tranquility.

 

* * *

 

Magnus’ sketchbook had since been occupied by a certain blue-eyed young man.

 

There were several sketches of him in his sketchbook, at first just made up of unconscious strokes. When he had realized what he was doing, he was always almost finished with the drawing.

 

The unintentional lining and shading turned into careful detailing.

 

The unruly black hair had never been tamed in all the times Magnus had seen him, but Magnus had accustomed himself with the way the strands seemed to always fall onto his forehead, and the way he moved his long fingers to brush them away.

 

The sweater he always wore when the weather got colder looked soft but battered and what Magnus had assumed was a black coloured fabric had now turned dark grey with time, and to someone like Magnus, who had such a passion for fashion it was borderline absurd (again, according to his unhelpful friends), that sweater of his normally belonged to anywhere but on a human body. But Magnus had also seen plenty of times the young man half hugging himself with one arm across his ribcage, his fingers clutching the side of his sweater, the pad of his thumb smoothing over the soft fabric.

 

And the way his eyebrows turned down as he read, the way his nose scrunched up slightly when he sniffed, the way his lips were pursed into a thin line, the way the shadow of his dark eyelashes cast on his under eyelid, all became the cautious strokes under Magnus’ pencils, coming to life on the papers.

 

* * *

 

Magnus was so used to seeing the man in the coffee house when he stepped in in the mornings that, when he found out his blue-eyed muse was nowhere to be seen one day, he stopped in his tracks, the handle of the door to the café half pressed down in his hand.

 

He still went in, even though he was suddenly overcame by a rush of disappointment. He ordered an espresso from an astounded Maia, twisting his hands together and examining his impeccable nail polish with an air of utter dissatisfaction.

 

Maia seemed to grasp the reason to his actions. She gave him a knowing smirk when she handed him his – first in many, many years – espresso, and tilted her head towards the empty chair where the young man always occupied with a smirk.

 

Magnus looked at her innocently.

 

“You’re welcome to wait. Just saying.”

 

Magnus was left with his coffee and the remnants of her words floating in the air.

 

It was a relatively leisure morning for the coffee house, and without the usual traffic of non-morning persons, this place was ideal for relaxation. The sun shined through the tinted windows in its usual languor, flirting with the dancing shadows. And now that the café was quiet, Magnus could hear the soft classical music playing in the background.

 

He could see why the man in his sketchbook loved to stay here and read.

 

Making up his mind in a second, Magnus grabbed his coffee and walked towards the very back, sitting down at the opposite chair to the one the man normally sat in, and took out his sketchbook.

 

He was in the middle of shading the shadowed side of the man’s face when he heard the telltale “ding” of the bell, announcing someone’s presence.

 

The smile he had from sketching stretched bigger when he saw his muse standing by the door, looking at his direction. Magnus gave a little wave with his pencil in his hand, and the young man, smiling, waved back somewhat shyly before heading to the counter.

 

He looked beautiful and captivating as always, but the fact that he wasn’t wearing his usual shabby sweater made him all the more mesmerizing.

 

For the first time since Magnus had met him, the man was wearing a three-piece suit, with a fitted navy blue jacket and a pair of black trousers. With his artistic eyes, Magnus was already branding details into his brains for future drawing references – how his clothes hugged around his form perfectly, how his hair was styled differently, and how the navy blue jacket brought the blue of his eyes out more.

 

Flipping a page, Magnus started on a new sketch. As he started the outlines, he mentally patted himself on the back for deciding to stay at the coffee house.

 

His day just got better when the blue-eyed angel came over after having his coffee and offered him a quiet “hi”.

 

Magnus looked up, pencil held in mid-stroke.

 

“Hi yourself.” He grinned, unconsciously swaying his shoulders as he sat straighter, and flipped his sketchbook closed.

 

The silence afterwards was slightly awkward, as he sat himself down opposite Magnus and placed his coffee on the table.

 

“So, uh, you draw?”

 

Magnus could see genuine interest sparkling behind the swirls of blue. He tugged the corners of lips up into an easy grin.

 

“Yes. I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember. But there’s just no place like this, with plenty natural lighting and classical music, not to mention a flawless human being currently sitting in front of me.”

 

The young man ducked his head as a deep shade of red crept up onto his high cheeks. Magnus grinned, and decided to go easy.

 

“I’m Magnus, by the way.”

 

He looked up then, and gave Magnus a crooked smile.

 

“Alec. I’m Alec.”

 

* * *

 

They would exchange verbal greetings back and forth, and occasionally, when Magnus had the leisure, they would sit at their table and talk. About their jobs, their families, their favourite art or book or music.

 

Sometimes, when silence settled between them, it was never uncomfortable or awkward anymore. Alec would resume to reading his book, and Magnus would go back to his sketches of the man opposite him. They would chance glances towards each other, thinking the other wouldn’t know; and when they caught each other staring, they would laugh softly, exchanged lighthearted banters, and continued doing what they were doing.

 

It was better than the kind of tranquility they had when they had never spoken to each other. And it was still serene, still precious, that Magnus never wanted it to end.

 

And if the looks Alec kept sneaking him were anything to go by, Magnus dared himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, his muse didn’t want this to end either.

 

* * *

 

To Maia’s not-surprise, their friendship eventually blossomed into something more.

 

“And it took you guys, what, three whole months of sneaking glances and private talks to realize you like each other?”

 

Both Magnus and Alec had looked at her unabashed, with their respective coffee in one hand and the other joined together.

 

Maia sighed.

 

“At least you got together eventually.”

 

Yeah, Magnus thought, tightening his hold on Alec’s hand, and grinned when he felt Alec squeeze back.

 

_At least we got together._

 

* * *

 

It happened one night, a month or so after they started dating.

 

The night was peaceful, with the fire cracking in the fireplace in the corner of their bedroom, and the occasional rustling of trees outside his semi open window. The lights of the city below pirouetting on the windowpane, reflecting the stars from above. Brooklyn was restless, even at night.

 

They were in bed, the gold satin sheets wrapping loosely around their lower bodies. Alec was fast asleep, his head pillowed on Magnus’ chest, one arm wrapped around his waist as he snored lightly. Magnus was absent-mindedly carding his hand into Alec’s hair, smiling soft as Alec shuffled and nuzzled closer.

 

It was something Magnus had guarded his heart against, something Magnus thought he couldn’t have. The fact that every morning when he woke up Alec was still there next to him, the fact that every evening Alec chose to come back to him after a tedious day of work, and the fact that he was more than willing to go out with him, and to spoil him with small surprises in the form of presents, all still seemed implausible to him, and yet they were there, stored as beautiful memories in his mind, along with Alec’s every expression and movement.

 

The way the corner of his eyes crinkled when he grinned, the way his head was thrown back when he laughed, the way his brows pulled together when he was deep in thoughts, the way his lips were set in a tight line when he was irritated.

 

The way his eyes shone when he saw him, the way his head snapped towards his direction whenever he entered a room, the way his brows arched high up into his hairline when he was being ridiculous, the way his lips moved against his own.

 

The way he felt inside him, the way his nails scratched along his back in the heat of passion, the way he called out his name when he came apart, and the way he showered kisses all over him afterwards, bathed in the afterglow.

 

Magnus had thought that little word would come as a tremendous revelation, followed by sparks and fireworks.

 

But it hadn’t.

 

It came in the dead of night, when he was alone with his thoughts. There were no eureka, no sparks nor fireworks, just a simple eight-lettered line forming in his mind.

 

Alec had stopped snoring and had shifted, so that he was practically sprawled on top of Magnus. Magnus chuckled lightly, and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend.

 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to confess.

 

Maybe this wouldn’t leave him floating in mid-air, uncertain of where to land.

 

Maybe Alexander Lightwood wouldn’t break his heart.

 

He dipped his head to place a featherlike kiss on Alec’s forehead.

 

“I love you.”

 

Just as he was about to fall into peaceful slumber, Magnus heard the faintest hum of content.

 

And Alec’s voice, though hoarse from sleep, was the most beautiful music Magnus had ever heard.

 

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> =D


End file.
